


From Every Small Disaster

by jusrecht



Category: Korean Actor RPF, Super Junior
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 01:29:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3832090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Kijoon is a hitman. Kyuhyun is a happenstance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This began as one of those songs challenges, in which you are challenged to write a drabble in the duration of one song and the drabble also has to reflect the song. But it's obviously too difficult when you also have to do world-building simultaneously, so surprise not surprise, I had to cheat many times orz 
> 
> Nevertheless this is the result. My music player chose these ten songs, but I switched the order up a bit to make the drabbles more chronological. Hopefully they make more sense now.
> 
> Oh, and I also include youtube links if you're curious about the songs/music :)  
> 

-

  
  
[Apocalyptica – Enter Sandman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IFWdMVn_lPw)

 

“They call him _La Morte_.”

Fresh from the Police Academy, the new recruits listened, all wide-eyed and eager. The lieutenant continued.

“No one quite knows how he works. All we know is he exists, and that he puts his skills at anyone’s disposal. That is, anyone with the right amount of money. The best hitmen out there know that their skills are wasted in the service of one master.”

Witnesses were scarce, if any. Some claimed seeing a tall, heavy-jowled man in dark suit and dark fedora, puffing at cigars—at which point members of the law enforcement knew better than to keep listening. Others who cared less about sensations or spotlight spoke of shadows, almost unseen but not unfelt, lurking in the periphery of their consciousness. Then there would be gunshots, _two_ gunshots, muted sometimes but always a pair, followed by a discovery of a dead body in the vicinity. Always this inevitable chain of events, over and over again.

“Many like to think that he’s just a myth,” the lieutenant said dryly. “Perhaps it gives them some measure of comfort, however false, to pretend that evil doesn’t exist.”

He paused. The entire room held their breath.

“But I can assure you, evil does exist, and this angel of death is very much real.”

 

 

-  


 

[Metric – The Twist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-fTlr9y2kQ)

 

Kyuhyun was nine when they first met.

What happened was this: there was a man and there was a child, and to the child the man would do things that should have existed only in the realm of nightmares.

This wasn’t Kyuhyun's first time. He was relatively new, but he knew what to expect—the hungry eyes, the eager touches, then the man’s weight on him, followed by excruciating pain in his rear. Sometimes it wouldn’t last long. Sometimes hours would stretch until he drowned in his own tears. Either way, it wouldn’t be the last time and he would find another man waiting for him after a few days.

Then today happened.

He was on his hands and knees. The man had been going at it for some time and Kyuhyun’s mouth was full with the taste of his own blood, from the work of his own teeth—when the man’s great weight crushed him. His breath was knocked out of his chest and a smattering of wetness covered the back of his head, staining his hair and pillow.

It took Kyuhyun a moment to realise that his molester was dead, and that there was someone else in the room.

“Oh, shit.”

That was how they met.

 

 

-

 

 

[Harvest Moon Town Theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_im7hqgjQrs)

 

The boy could cook.

Kijoon found out about this two days after he had brought him home—which of course had never been part of the plan. He knew, however, that he couldn’t leave a living witness behind. At the same time, he found the idea of collateral damage abhorrent (and he simply didn't like to be dictated by circumstances), so the choice was obvious.

He took the kid home.

And the kid cooked him some pasta.

It was a simple affair of some spaghetti with garlic and dried herbs and tomato (Kijoon had hid all the knives in the house to prevent any misuse), and yet, it was also the most delicious meal he had had in a long time. While it was probably stupid to eat something prepared by his captive, Kijoon really couldn’t turn down a chance for a good meal. (He was a terrible cook, okay?)

“Thank you,” the boy suddenly said when they had finished every forkful.

Kijoon looked at the wide, anxious eyes, the thin limbs and sunken face, and wondered.

“You haven’t told me your name,” he said at last.

Another nervous glance. “It’s... Kyuhyun.”

“Well, then thank you for the meal, Kyuhyun.” He made an attempt to smile, although it probably wasn’t very successful. “It was really delicious.”

The kid returned the smile nevertheless, a shy flicker at first, then a wide, bright thing that lit up the whole room.

Kijoon would remember that smile for the rest of his life.

 

 

-

 

 

[Vienna Teng – Lullaby For A Stormy Night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CXUpPFCesTA)

 

Kyuhyun was not afraid of storms.

That was, he did not know that he was afraid of storms until he found himself being afraid of one.

He flinched, swallowing a whimper as thunder cracked outside. Back where he had been kept with other children, they always slept huddled together, four or five boys in one cramped mattress. Now he was lying on a long couch that served as his makeshift bed, alone, and Kijoon was across the room, asleep in his own bed.

Another burst of thunder sent him scrambling to one corner of the sofa, thin blanket clutched tightly around his trembling form. Kyuhyun could feel the hot press of tears against his eyes. He was nine years old; it would be humiliating to cry. But he was alone in this strange place and there was no one he could ask for help–

Kyuhyun’s scream was trapped in his throat when he felt a touch to the top of his head. His eyes flung open and he saw, with part relief and part shock, Kijoon standing in front of him.

The man said nothing and only stared at him for a few moments. Then there was another crack of thunder and Kyuhyun squeezed his eyes shut—only to feel himself being lifted up at the next second.

Kijoon carried him across the room and lay him down in his own bed. Kyuhyun was petrified, old fears rearing their heads up and joining ranks with present ones, but Kijoon only bundled him up in the blanket and draped an arm across his shoulder.

“Sleep,” he ordered, the word almost lost in the rain’s drumming.

Kyuhyun nodded and closed his eyes. Two minutes later, he was already asleep.

 

 

-

 

 

[Mogwai – I Know You Are But What Am I](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XNvhly-N-1c)

 

When Kyuhyun turned twelve, Kijoon taught him how to shoot.

It was more for the sake of survival than any pursue of proficiency. The boy had no intention of leaving; teaching him ways to defend himself was only logical.

It soon became obvious, however, that Kyuhyun had no talent for it. Courage was one thing (and he had plenty of courage), but skills were quite another set of demons. There were people who were made to hold weapons—Kijoon was one of them—and there were people who were, to put it simply, _not_. Kyuhyun fell squarely among the latter. Angles and trajectories were a lost art to him. Explanations, no matter how long or thorough, failed to make even the smallest difference—and Kijoon was not surprised. In fact, he was partly relieved.

What made this different, what made _all_ the difference, was Kyuhyun’s perseverance. Kijoon witnessed with his own eyes just how strong it could be when Kyuhyun spent hours practising, day after day, when he was not buried behind books that Kijoon brought home for him. Days turned into weeks that turned into months that turned in to years, and he never missed a single day of practice.

By the time he was fourteen, he already shot better than most hitmen twice his age.

“So?” Kyuhyun turned around after a particularly impressive exhibition, a shy but expectant grin on his face. “How did I do?”

Kijoon would have laughed, would have clapped his hands, would have ruffled the boy’s hair like usual—except he knew exactly what that look on Kyuhyun’s face meant.

 

 

-

 

 

[The Seatbelts – Cosmic Dare (Pretty With A Pistol)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SbOz17LGfhU)

 

“Maybe I’ll go to the police.”

Kijoon looked more amused than alarmed by the threat. “And tell them what?”

“And tell them I know where their most wanted fugitive is hiding.”

“Maybe I’ll be gone before they can even locate this place on the map.”

“Maybe I’ll just bring them here.”

“Again, I’ll be gone before–”

“I hate you,” Kyuhyun said venomously and went back to throwing knives at a tree some ten metres away. Most of them ended up in the bushes behind said tree, but he really couldn’t give a damn right now.

“You will really deliver me to the police only because I refuse to kiss you?”

“What do you _think_?” Kyuhyun muttered acidly, cheeks heating up once more. He knew very well how childish it sounded, but well, he really wanted that kiss.

“Kyuhyun, you’re sixteen.”

Kyuhyun threw an unimpressed look over his shoulder. “You gave me that excuse when you refused to fuck me.”

“Well, because you _are_ sixteen and I’m not fucking a sixteen-year-old kid.”

Kyuhyun snorted but didn’t attempt a reply. The excuse was a flimsy one, especially in comparison with other crimes Kijoon had committed, but he knew that nothing he could say would change Kijoon’s mind. He was _that_ stubborn.

“Maybe I’ll just run away,” he muttered, stabbing the hard ground with a knife.

Kijoon said nothing. The silence stretched on to an unbearable length that Kyuhyun couldn’t help but chance a glance. The man, he discovered uncomfortably, was watching him with an inscrutable look on his face.

“You can do that, of course,” Kijoon finally broke his silence, his voice calm, measured. “You’re not my prisoner. You can always leave whenever you want.”

Kyuhyun stubbornly ignored the pang in his chest and held the older man’s gaze. “But?”

“There’s no ‘but’.”

It took all Kyuhyun’s willpower not to scream in frustration. He forced himself to turn away, pretending to dig at the ground under his feet as soon as he felt the threat of tears behind his eyes. He was a big boy now, damn it. He wouldn’t cry because of something like this.

He wouldn’t cry, period.

“Except,” Kijoon suddenly said again, “I think I’ll be very lonely if you leave.”

Any effort to hide his emotions was lost when he heard it. The scream broke past its restraint and before he knew it, he already jumped to his feet and threw the knife at the man.

It landed on the foot of the chair Kijoon was sitting in.

“Nice aim.”

“I hate you so much,” Kyuhyun hissed and stalked back into the house.

 

 

-

 

 

[Muse – Map of the Problematique](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ibRMmLlLz64)

 

Many, many times, Kijoon wondered why he hadn’t killed the boy.

He was a liability in many ways, this was an indisputable fact. Not only that he was a witness to Kijoon’s crimes, he also knew where he lived, what he liked, what he _looked_ like, what his habits were, and many other damning details. To keep him alive was a prime example of foolishness, which was especially evident when he had to make his escape under a shower of bullets—with another person dragging his feet.

Kijoon had toyed with his gun multiple times, weighing, deliberating. He did not have those scruples afflicting so many in his profession for the so-called innocent lives. Adults or children, they were all the same for him. Killing this boy would be no different from his other kills.

But he always put the gun down in the end. And this happened again and again and again, until the boy had firmly tangled himself—his smiles, his laughs, his complaints, his very presence—in every beat of Kijoon’s lives.

This was when Kijoon realised that he could no longer kill him.

 

 

-

 

 

[Anna inspi’ NANA – Rose](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SYtLk2GwLLs)

 

There was too much blood.

Kyuhyun had never seen so much blood before in his life. Kijoon rarely came back injured, and even if he did, it usually was only in the shape of a mild sprain or a bruised arm. Nothing too serious.

This was neither a sprain nor a bruise. Kyuhyun’s hands shook as he finished cleaning and stitching the wound. A gunshot tore at flesh, muscles, and ligaments, missing the bones by inches. Kijoon’s right arm would be useless for weeks.

“It’s alright,” the older man told him, his breathing still heavy from the pain.

“It’s not fucking alright,” Kyuhyun snarled. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to rail and shout and blame Kijoon for daring to get hurt, because if the worst happened, if he left Kyuhyun _alone_ –

“They’ll be coming soon,” Kijoon said again, rising to his elbow. “We need to go now. Just bring–”

That was when Kyuhyun threw every care in the world and leaned in to capture the older man’s lips in a fierce, bruising kiss, pushing Kijoon once more on his back. His hand had settled across Kijoon’s eyes, barring his sight as he poured every drop of anger and frustration and fear into the kiss.

Kijoon did not fight him, not even after Kyuhyun had withdrawn. Only the look on his face said that things would not end here.

“I’ll get the guns,” Kyuhyun muttered and rose to his feet. This time, it would be different.

 

 

-

 

 

[Nine Inch Nails – The Beginning Of The End](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ce5vC_fBasE)

 

His first kill, like so many things in his life, was a happenstance.

They were hunted. Kyuhyun had a gun clutched between his fingers, but they were shaking so badly he couldn’t even take aim. There were knives in his boots and the insides of his jacket. He could feel their weight, pulling at his conscience, but even the sharpest ones were useless if he could not pull them out.

Kijoon always had him protected. Wounded as he was, he still had his left hand—not as quick, not as deadly at his right, but far from useless.

Then the man appeared. He was a tall man with bulky shoulders, dressed by night in dark clothes and heavy boots.

And he had a gun aimed at Kijoon.

Kyuhyun did not think. He could not think. His brain had screeched into a halt—but his hands did not hesitate.

They moved, took aim, and fired.

The man went down with a bullet to the head.

(Later, when they had escaped to safety, Kyuhyun would realise that his hands no longer shook.)

 

 

-

 

 

[Hitomi Kuroishi – Stories ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RU5ilJwDOPs)

 

“You never feel much when you kill. Why should it be different for me?”

“Because it’s different for you,” Kijoon replied quietly, fingers stroking his hair.

Kyuhyun did not answer, eyes still heavy with crying. He knew that Kijoon was right. He did not have that detachment, that ruthlessness, that utter disregard for human life.

Kijoon was made for this life; Kyuhyun was not.

And yet, he knew that the world would end, the sky would tear, _he_ would die first, before he left this man.

 

-

 


	2. Crawling Down the Avenue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They wouldn't leave me alone orz
> 
> This part's title came from the song _Make You Feel My Love_.

“Let me paint you a picture.”

Kyuhyun straightened up, gritting his teeth against the pain that shot up in his left leg. “So today I got shot. I’d say that it happened because I was a clumsy idiot. You’d say that it was your fault because you just couldn’t get over the fact that you were the one who dragged me into this sort of life. And we’d argue back and forth the whole night until I pass out because we’re both stubborn fuckers like that.

“Then tomorrow will come and one of these two things will happen.” Kyuhyun paused for a deep, shaky breath, clinging to this one last coherent thread of thought in the chaos that sent his head all throbbing and spinning madly. He had lost a lot of blood, and now that they had reached the relative safety of yet another hideout (this one a tiny apartment in the outskirts of Sejong), the adrenaline that had kept him going throughout the bloody chase was starting to wear off. “Right. One of two things. First, you’ll still be here when I wake up and you’ll insist on making pancakes for breakfast although we both know that you always burn them. And I’ll eat them anyway because I love you like that.

“But there’s a second possibility. Maybe tomorrow I’ll open my eyes and find out that I’m alone. You’re gone, because you’ve taken it into your heard that I’ll be safer _not_ around you. So you’ve decided to leave.

“Now let me tell you what will happen after the second scenario,” Kyuhyun declared, making a point never to look away despite (especially because of) the older man’s chilling gaze. “In a month or two, you’re going to turn on the news and see that a seventeen-year-old boy has just murdered a dozen people—or more, depending on my ammo at that time. In cold blood, they say. Without any rhyme or reason, they say. They are wrong on both accounts, but of course only you and me know that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kijoon’s cold retort interrupted him.

Kyuhyun felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up his throat. “You think that’s ridiculous? No, what’s ridiculous is _this_. Because of my age, they’ll probably send me to juvie instead of giving me a bullet to the head. What can be more ridiculous than that? I was trained by the best hitman in the world and they decide to put me among helpless children only because I’m not even eighteen. Give me a week and I’ll make them reconsider their decision—I don’t know, will a second massacre be enough? After all, the other boys in that sort of facility must’ve done some wrongs in their lives. And you didn’t teach me how to kill and then expect me not to use it, did you?”

Kijoon didn’t deign to reply, so Kyuhyun rambled on. “And that’s how it will always be. If they send me to an asylum, I’ll just repeat the process all over again. Even spoons can kill—you taught me that. In the end, it’ll come to a point where they realise they have no other choice. They have to give me the bullet. Or the lethal injection. Anything to get rid of me off the face of the earth.”

“Do you want to die that much?” Kijoon broke his stubborn silence this time, voice was low and tight with anger.

Kyuhyun sank back into the narrow couch, the only decent makeshift bed in this hideout. “No,” he answered truthfully, exhaustion suddenly catching up to him. “But I don’t give a damn about dying as long as I can see you. Even though it’s only for one last time.”

Kijoon inhaled sharply and shot up to his feet. “Sleep,” he said brusquely. “You have a fever. You’re not thinking straight.”

“Yeah?” Kyuhyun shot back, lips curving into a small, defiant smirk. “Try me.”

It earned him such a look that Kyuhyun’s false bravado crumbled faster than a castle in the air. Kijoon only stood there wordless, half turning away, with a cold, almost disgusted look on his face. His silence was a threat that hung above the dim-lit room, and it stretched on, unbroken, until Kyuhyun could feel fear suddenly creeping in. 

“Hyung…” he swallowed, panic bursting through his defences, “I’m sorry… I just, I don’t want you to leave me alone. If I have to spend the rest of my life without you–”

“ _This_ isn’t a life,” Kijoon hissed, his eyes a pair of wild, bright points nailing Kyuhyun to the spot. “How can you call it a life if you have to run— _constantly_ —running and hiding and always looking over your shoulder because virtually everyone wants me dead? _You_ didn’t choose this life.”

“And you think being a fucktoy is a life?” Kyuhyun’s anger flared up again. “Because that’s what I would be and you know it. That’s what I would remain if you didn’t pull me out of that hellhole. And yes, it _was_ hell. And if you think I wouldn’t choose this life over _that_ every single time–”

Kijoon’s hand slammed into the wall above Kyuhyun’s head, cutting the rest of his tirade. “Stop talking,” he ordered furiously. “You need rest.”

“I will,” Kyuhyun breathed out shakily. Tears were burning his eyes and the gunshot in his leg was a searing, painful throb. “But please please don’t leave, hyung. Don’t leave me alone. I’ll try to be more useful and not–”

“Shut up,” Kijoon cut him off again—slower, deadlier, every syllable a threat. “Shut up or I’ll leave.”

Kyuhyun quickly clamped a hand over his mouth, nodding frantically. It didn’t stop him from quietly mouthing the same prayer over and over again behind his clenched teeth, until the spread of morphine finally dragged him to sleep.

Because, who knows, perhaps a thousand prayers would be enough.

 

-

 

He woke up feeling like he had been hit by a truck.

It almost, _almost_ didn’t matter—for the next thing Kyuhyun noticed was the familiar smell permeating the room. The smell brought a flood of memories from last night and would have launched him to his feet if not for the sudden surge of pain from his leg.

He must have shouted, maybe even screamed, because the next thing he knew was Kijoon— _Kijoon_ —was already at his side, peering anxiously at his face.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Kyuhyun managed to grit out, breathless from an absurd burst of happiness in the middle of such painful onslaught. “You’re here. You didn’t leave.”

“I burned the pancakes,” Kijoon told him, his voice solemn enough to make Kyuhyun realise that he was not talking about pancakes at all.

So overwhelmed by relief, Kyuhyun didn’t even notice the grin stretching across his lips. “I’ll eat them all,” he promised fervently.

Kijoon snorted, but a tiny resigned smile stole into his expression—and Kyuhyun knew that he had won.

(This round, at least.)

 

**_End  
_ **


End file.
